New Girl
by Yardale Bound
Summary: A conversation between lovers, hints of jealousy and adorableness? Mole/Greg Everything I write will be rated T just in case. Unless it gets worse than that. This is as though they were like... 16/17. NOT 8 years old. Got it?


**Disclaimer. I don't own. Matt? Trey? Geniuses. Me? Low-life with a computer. Money for this? None.  
Have fun!**

**Christophe and Gregory get into a short conversation about a random person entering class one day. Yes, there's an OC in there. It's not mine either. My girlfriend made Megan up. But I used her for a second or six. ;D  
**

"There was a new girl in class today," Gregory says. He sets a piece of paper aside from the stack in his hands, as though the comment itself is as commonplace in this house as the Mole's very existence. Given the sight of the other boy, it would be understandable why such a random and out-of-place comment wouldn't strike as something so un-ordinary in this setting.

The teen in question, the Mole, sits on the window sill in Gregory's bedroom, one leg drawn up so his chin can rest on his knee, the other leg dangling inside the room. The chill breeze of a South Park winter's night comes in through the open window, but the Mole's body blocks most of the cold from entering the room itself. He is smoking a cigarette, one hand pulling through his shaggy dirt-brown hair. Whether that color is natural or something created by his unhealthy amount of time spent _in_ dirt, one can never quite be sure. Gregory has only once managed to get the other boy to actually bathe, though he must do it on occasion, for he doesn't smell like filth, just dirt.

Mole, commonly known as Christophe in this household, and only _this_ household, tilts his head and blows a smoke ring toward the window before looking at Gregory, an eyebrow raised.

"And?" he asks casually, knowing that if he doesn't voice his curiosity, the blond will drop the story completely. He hates that about Gregory.

"Oh?" Gregory looks up. "Yes, the new girl. I slightly wish you had been there. She's rather sweet."

"Is she now?" Mole is humoring him now. The instant the word "sweet" enters into the conversation, Mole doesn't care anymore. It's going to turn into another night of Gregory gushing over a girl he'll never have, for several reasons. He rolls his eyes and looks back out the window, watching as four of their classmates go walking past the house on the pavement below.

They're walking in the street, as it's a pretty quiet area of town. The one in the blue hat with the red pom-pom atop it seems to be leading the group, while a teen in a familiar orange parka and green hat trails close behind him. Mole recognizes them, but he recognizes the fat boy in red more than any of the others. That's the boy that let him die so many years ago. Mole would kill him now if Gregory would let him. Gregory, however, would not let him. He doesn't recognize the fourth teen, someone in an all orange outfit, hood drawn up and around his face so the only thing visible is eyes really.

Mole briefly wonders why no one in this town bothers to change their style as they get older. Most of the kids in their class still wear the exact same bullshit outfits and styles they wore during the American-Canadian war. They just bought larger sizes to fit their growing bodies.

Gregory is still speaking, and Mole realizes this too late. He looks up sharply, only to see angry blue-gray eyes focused on his, thin lips drawn into a frown that turns them white with how tightly they're pressed together. Mole flushes and winces. Yet again, he's been ignoring whatever Gregory had to say. Yet again, he may have missed something important. Or it may have just been information about this new girl, but it's not so good to take these chances with Gregory.

"Have you heard a word of what I've said?" Gregory asks quietly, no anger present in his tone. This frightens Mole more than a pack of fifty guard dogs.

"You were talking about some new girl in class zat you wish I could 'ave met, right?" he tries a small smile at the end of this, a goofy smirk he knows usually gets Gregory smiling as well. Usually.

Gregory sighs instead and looks away. "You are hopeless," he murmurs. Mole feels a sting right in his chest at these words. He tries, but Gregory just makes life so boring sometimes. "I was talking about her, yes, but you heard nothing after I said that she was sweet, did you?"

Gregory knows him so well. "You would be correct."

"Whatever caught your attention so that you were able to completely ignore me like that without an mp3 player at your side?" Gregory asks, his lips curling up into a soft smile. He's no longer angry. He can never stay mad at Mole for very long, and it's something Mole banks on quite frequently.

"I saw some people from our class out ze window," Mole says with a shrug. "I was trying to see if I could recognize zem."

"And did you?"

"None of zem was zis new girl you were talking about," Mole prompts.

"You actually are interested?" Gregory asks, an eyebrow quirking toward the ceiling. The blond sets aside the stack of papers he'd been reading, some new mission statement, or perhaps just an essay for English class he's been obsessively editing all week. Mole never stops to question what Gregory's reading. Ever.

Mole nods, flicking his cigarette, now burnt out, through the open window before pulling it closed with a solid click. "Please, go on."

"Her name is Megan," Gregory begins again, smiling fondly. "She's actually very quiet, didn't say more than two words all day that I saw. But she's rather good-looking, long brown hair, a strong sense of style."

"Yes, because whezzer or not 'er shirt matches 'er shoes eez important to Gregory, ze boy who transferred from Yardale wiz a four-oh grade point average."

"I've stopped using that line," Gregory protests, a look of anguish crossing his features.

"Maybe zat's where you went wrong," Mole suggests, standing from the sill and moving to the bed. He picks up the papers Gregory has splayed around, straightens the stack and gently sets it on the desk before rejoining his friend at the bed. Sitting carefully on the edge to remove his boots, he looks back. "Continue."

"She seems proper, though she doesn't speak much, as I said. I think that she may be shy. I worry for her, though. Already, Eric has latched onto her as a target."

"'E would," Mole agrees. "'E 'ates just about anyzing zat breazz near 'im."

Gregory chuckles. "God help you if you breathe _on_ him."

"You're fucked."

Gregory smiles and ducks his head as Mole slides atop the covers next to him, leaning back against the headboard. "You aren't bloodied, are you?" he asks cautiously.  
Mole shakes his head. "Just dirt," he adds. "Nuzzing too filzy tonight."

"Good." Gregory seems to deflate at that, in a calmed way, and leans his head onto Mole's shoulder a bit. "She wore purple today. It says a lot about someone, what they wear on a first impressions basis. When someone sees you for the first time, they're frightened by your camouflage cargo pants and ass-stomping steel-tipped boots."

"Good," Mole says with a smirk. "And when people see you for ze first time, zey are stricken wiz laughter."

"Kindly go fuck yourself," Gregory says, chuckling.

"What did 'er cloze tell you, Gregory?"

"That she's well-off," Gregory says with a shrug. "But that she doesn't really care for the fact. She likes to prove she can afford to dress well, but she also likes people to know that she's just a normal kid like the rest of us."

"Like ze rest of _you_," Mole corrects instinctively.

"Whatever you say," Gregory shrugs again. "There isn't much to tell about her, oddly. And yet I cannot stop my mind from wandering to her every once in a while."

"'Ow often?" Mole asks, stretching his legs out before himself before settling down against the headboard a little more comfortably, putting his arm about Gregory as the other's head shifts from his shoulder to his chest.

"Thirteen times since you came in. Probably more before that."

"And I 'ave only been 'ere for about 'alf an 'our. Gregory, you're crushing."

"I most certainly am not," Gregory says defensively, sitting up and glaring at Mole, one hand placed firmly on the darker teen's chest to hold himself up. "I am only curious."

"Curious? Of what? What she looks like naked?"

Gregory sputters at this, pushing himself from Mole, leaving a hot, hand-shaped memory on Mole's dirt-caked shirt. He rubs at his chest to make the feeling go away, phantom hand prints one of those things that just freaks him out.

"I have absolutely no desire to see her disrobed, Christophe," Gregory is saying, now pacing the room in anger, his still-gloved hands gesticulating wildly as he speaks.

"Fine," Mole concedes, "you don't want to see 'er naked. But you are zinking about 'er an unnatural amount. Especially for 'aving what? Just barely met 'er, right? She stood in ze front of ze class and was introduced. Zen, I suppose, she sat next to you, in my empty seat for ze day. 'Ave I made a mistake so far?"

Gregory stops and looks back at Mole, shaking his head. "Not a one."

"You watched 'er zroughout class. Our teacher was droning on about World War II, and as we boze know, you and I are already fluent in War-ese."  
Gregory lets out a soft giggle at that.

"So you watched 'er instead of paying attention. Class passed, you followed 'er out of ze room and eet turns out she 'ad a few uzzer classes wiz you, so you watched 'er all day and neglected your studies, because you were intrigued by 'er."

"I was indeed," Gregory supplies. "But only intrigued by her being new, nothing more."

"Of course," Mole says, inclining his head and lacing his hands behind his neck. "Only as a study, nuzzing more."

Gregory accepts this and comes back to the bed, sitting at the foot of it and watching Mole now.

"You watched 'er. Forgive me, studied 'er, all day. At lunch, I suppose, she spoke for ze first time. She... zanked ze chef when she received 'er meal?"

Gregory's eyes go wide and Mole grins at this, can't help but grin at it. If the girl had only spoken two words all day, they must have been pleasantries like those. He couldn't imagine Gregory being so enthralled by a girl who'd randomly screamed out "Fuck shit!" in the middle of kickball.

"Well, zen. You went on about your day and she got on ze bus to go 'ome and you came to your muzzer's minivan and came to your own 'ome. You zen proceeded to seet around, reading sheet and zinking about 'er all afternoon while I got bit by dogs... I 'ope I didn't mees anyzing."

"Not a thing, Christo-" Gregory blinks and looks at Mole, eyes wide. "You got bit?"

"Just once. I wrapped eet. Don't worry."

"But you-"

"I said don't worry," Mole says. "We're in ze middle of analyzing your crush on ze new girl, remember?"

"It is not a crush, Christophe!" Gregory growls. He stops suddenly, looking up at Mole. "You- My God, you're jealous, aren't you?"

"Jealous? Please, Gregory... If zere was even a chance zat you'd get 'er, zen maybe I'd be jealous. As eet stands? I don't 'ave to worry about any cute leetle new girl sweeping you off your feet and away from me. Nor do I 'ave to worry about you sweeping 'er off 'er feet, as I've never seen you touch a broom in your life." He smirks then, winking at Gregory.

And Gregory pales, staring at Mole as though he's thinking incredibly hard, and he can't quite figure it out, whatever is going on in his head. He bites at a smooth bottom lip, breaking skin instantly as he chews away at the top layer, confusion streaking his face now.

"Gregory," Mole says with a sigh. He leans forward and moves to his knees before crawling forward and taking Gregory's chin in his fist. "Stop zat. You'll get cracked leeps."

"And so what?" Gregory asks softly. His expression is distant. "I don't have a crush. And that was horribly cruel what you said... That is, I think it was."

"What? Zat I 'ave complete faiz I'm never going to lose you to some seely new girl at school?" Mole asks, smirking. "You do realize you're 'ilariously cute when you get confused like zis, right?"

"I am not cute!" Gregory squeaks, glaring at Mole now. "I am far from cute, you horse's ass!"

Mole smirks again. "Right. Not cute at all when you get angry and puff your chest out like you're trying to prove somezing." He leans forward just enough to place his lips over Gregory's, a short chaste kiss. "Now, stop being not-cute and come to bed, okay?" He stands up and moves to the closet to change out of his work clothes, listening to the sounds of the room behind him. Gregory remains silent for some time.

Finally, clad in a pair of black cotton pajama bottoms Gregory bought him for his birthday this last year, Mole makes his way back to the bed and gets settled, this time under the blankets. He looks to the stunned blond still at the foot of the bed.

"Come to bed, Gregory," he says again. "We can continue our argument about jealous boyfriends tomorrow, after you introduce me to zis new girl you seem so interested in, okay?"  
This does the trick. Gregory shifts and looks back at Mole with a small smile. "You are a jealous boyfriend," he says, standing and moving to the closet for his own pajamas.

"And what eef I am. Eet's 'ealzy."

"Not particularly," Gregory says. "Nor is it very attractive."

"And yet you stay wiz me," Mole says, smiling as Gregory comes back to the bed, wearing similar black pajama pants, and a matching shirt. The blond climbs into the bed and nestles under the blankets. He turns off the bedside lamp and curls against Mole's side.

"I have my reasons, Christophe," he says into the dark.

Mole grins. "I'd love to 'ear zem sometime."

**End.**

**AN. I like reviews. Just sayin'.  
**


End file.
